


Jailbait

by PiscesDragon



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Age Difference, Alcohol, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst, Drinking, Flirting, M/M, Modern Canon Divergence AU, Temptation, jaded shiro, maybe he’s underage maybe he’s not, why yes that is a Blue Steel reference you see
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-10-19
Updated: 2019-12-05
Packaged: 2020-12-24 08:20:19
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 11,504
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21096338
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PiscesDragon/pseuds/PiscesDragon
Summary: He was the most beautiful man to ever walk into Shiro’s bar.Sharp-edged features and a mop of hair so black it reminded Shiro of an empty fathomless sky, all supported by a trim figure bordering on skinny. He’d never been one to have much interest in the twink type, but something about the way the whole package came together on this one really worked for him.As the beauty slowly approached the bar, however, Shiro’s hopes were instantly dashed.He was definitely jailbait.





	1. Part I

**Author's Note:**

> I've been pretty lucky not to have to deal with any of the anti-Sheith harassment, but I see a lot of it happening on Twitter and it just makes me sad. I really hate that artists and writers get attacked to the point they stop creating or sharing what they love just because some people are jerks.
> 
> Well, this story is a response in the form of "Don't get mad, get even" :D
> 
> When people complain about "age difference" and "incestuous relationships" as if two animated 2D characters (who are actually both canonically of age, mind you) would ever be in need of real life therapy, it just inspires me to write more...
> 
> FYI, Rating is for later chapters and may go up if I can finally convince myself to write smut.

He was the most beautiful man to ever walk into Shiro’s bar.

Hell, the most beautiful he’d ever _ seen._

Sharp-edged features and a mop of hair so black it reminded Shiro of an empty fathomless sky, all supported by a trim figure bordering on skinny. He’d never been one to have much interest in the twink type, but something about the way the whole package came together on this one really worked for him.

As the beauty slowly approached the bar, however, Shiro’s hopes were instantly dashed.

He had to be jailbait.

The boy sidled up to the bar, pulling himself onto a barstool and leaning an elbow on the dark-stained wood of the countertop. A wicked grin broke open across his face – and Shiro was gone.

It was devastating.

Like looking into the sun, the boy’s smile was something you didn’t want to look away from. Yet Shiro knew if he didn’t, he might suffer permanent damage. He focused his gaze down on the glass in his hand, wiping it dry with the cloth as if there was no end to the number of water spots. He could feel the boy’s eyes on him, but he refused to put himself back in the path of danger until pressed. With any luck, he was just waiting for the person he was meeting up with, and he’d vacate the bar quickly.

After a few minutes of their cat-and-mouse game, with the boy seeking eye contact and Shiro actively avoiding it, the boy was, of course, the one who finally broke.

“Hey, handsome,” he called out to Shiro. “What’s a guy gotta do to get a drink around here?”

_ Fuck_.

It was immediately bad on multiple levels. First, any potential for the boy’s heterosexuality was shattered, like a glass gauntlet had been thrown. It also happened to be their slowest night of the week, and Shiro was the only person working the bar, so there was no possible way to escape an interaction. The worst of it was the boy’s voice, an entrancing mixture of raspy velvet Shiro instinctively wanted to hear more of, the sound of it sparking an ember of desire in his gut.

Forcing his eyes up to the customer, Shiro was immediately caught by his forward stare. A strange magnetic pull of curiosity caused him to slide closer, as he tried to discern the true color of the orbs that held him hostage. When he came to stand in front of the boy, he could see they were a dark purple, changing from blue-grey to bright violet as he fidgeted slightly. The changing angles of the reflected light made the color of his irises shift like a kaleidoscope, rendering him even more entrancing. 

_ Fuck._

Who the hell had any right to look like that? A brief thought flashed through Shiro’s brain that he’d like to find the guy’s parents and thank them. 

Then he had to remind himself they’d be easy to find — the boy probably still lived with them.

“Are you even old enough to be in here?” Shiro asked, after taking a much too assessing look at the boy.

He laughed, a rough whiny chuckle that rolled over Shiro, leaving goosebumps down his spine. “Uh, yeah. Of course I am.”

The boy slid his wallet out of his back pocket, removing his ID and sliding it across the slick surface toward Shiro.

He was cocky as hell, Shiro had to give him that. But it wouldn’t be the first time a college kid from the town over came in, thinking they could pass a fake in his bar. Shiro picked it up, giving the boy a critical eye, then looked over the ID with scrutiny.

“Akira Yorak, huh?” Shiro asked, reading the ridiculous name on the piece of plastic.

“Yep. But my friends call me Keith,” the boy responded with a smile. He leaned forward as his expression turned slightly predatory, reminding Shiro of a kitten ready to pounce on a toy mouse. _ “You _can call me whatever you want, big guy.”

Shiro suppressed a smile, swallowing the laugh that was trying to escape. It was cute, really. His amazing good looks combined with his playful, forward attitude would have had him on Shiro’s lap in a heartbeat ten years ago. No doubt the schtick probably worked for him most of the time.

But Shiro was far too old and wise to fall into such a trap.

“You don’t look much like your picture,” commented Shiro, completely ignoring the boy’s offer.

The kid was not at all rattled. “I made a weird face when they took it,” he explained, settling into his stool more comfortably. “Thought it would be funny, you know? Turns out it’s just a pain in the ass. I got pulled over once and had to go all the way into court for a busted taillight just because the cop thought my license was a fake!”

Shiro was usually a very good judge of character. He prided himself on his innate ability to spot bullshit and generally gave no quarter to those that peddled in it. The thing was, he couldn’t get a solid read on this guy. And it was beginning to bother him.

“Make the face,” Shiro suggested passively.

“What face?”

“The face on your ID.”

“Really?” The boy asked with a laugh. A shrug of his shoulders followed. “Ok, fine.”

Shiro watched as his face contorted into a different expression. His eyes were half-closed by heavy lids, lips pushed out in a pout that pulled his cheeks in and drew attention to his cheekbones. A vague memory of Matt making a similar face and calling it “blue steel” came to mind. It should have looked ridiculous, but this kid was making it look a hell of a lot sexier than the duck face Matt had pulled.

He snapped out of his musings to look at the ID again, comparing the two. There was more of a resemblance, but the lines of his face still seemed slightly off. The person in the picture had purple streaks in his hair and a nose ring, making it even more difficult to tell if the “Keith” in front of him was the same person.

Better safe than sorry. Losing his liquor license would put the bar out of business and himself out on the street.

“I’m not serving you alcohol,” Shiro said firmly, handing the ID back to the boy. “You want something else?”

“Are you serious?” The boy’s mouth dropped open in shock.

“Yep,” Shiro answered, popping the “P” at the end with a flourish.

“Huh,” Keith said, giving Shiro a look of appraisal as he shimmied his wallet back into his skinny jeans. His mouth shifted into a smirk. “How old do you think I am?”

Shiro leaned his back against the workstation behind him, arms crossed over his chest as he assessed the boy. “Not sure. But you’re not twenty-one.”

“How do you know?” Keith asked, leaning forward, clearly intrigued. His eyes shimmered under the dim bar lights.

Shiro shrugged. “I just do.”

“So how old do you think I _ really _ am, then?” he asked again. “Take a guess.”

Shiro paused for a moment. _ What the hell, it was a slow night. _No harm in playing along. Either he’d insult the guy and get him to leave or he’d stick around and Shiro could enjoy the view for a while longer. Seemed like a win-win.

“Seventeen.”

Keith stared at him, dumbfounded, for a split second before a loud bark of a laugh escaped him. “What? Oh my God. No wonder you won’t fucking serve me.”

“You asked,” Shiro pointed out with a shrug. “Drink?”

“Coke,” Keith replied. “You shouldn’t make assumptions about people based on how they look, you know.”

“That’s part of my job,” Shiro explained, a bit coy, as he filled a glass with ice and picked up the soda gun.

“Yeah, but take you for instance,” Keith said, leaning forward with his elbows on the bar. “The hair says you’re forty, but that body says you’re not.”

Shiro’s gaze shot up to see Keith’s purple-grey eyes twinkling with humor. “Oh, really?”

“So how old are _ you? _ _ ” _ Keith asked with a grin, blunt as a well-used spoon.

“Too old for you,” Shiro answered, and he couldn’t seem to resist the urge to add with too much intention, “little boy.”

If he’d intended to run Keith off with his snark, he quickly found it backfired spectacularly. As he slid the glass of brown bubbly liquid across the counter, Keith’s hand shot out to wrap around Shiro’s before he was able to let go of the glass. With a heated gaze, he responded in a low voice, “Oh, I bet I could be a _ very _ good boy for _ you.” _

The traitor in his pants had the nerve to give an interested twitch at that, and Shiro quickly freed his hand and stepped away, turning his back to Keith to regain his composure. Unfortunately, the rear section of the bar had a mirror running behind it, and when he glanced up, Shiro caught the smug smile playing across Keith’s face.

Damn, what a confident little shit he was. It made Shiro want to test it, to see what it would take to make him lose his cool, or if his feisty directness would carry over into other, _ more physical _, pursuits.

_ He’s a kid, _ Shiro reminded himself with a shake of his head, as if it would be enough to knock some sense into him.

Instead of giving any type of reply to Keith’s forwardness, he kept himself busy for a while with straightening the bottles and checking to see if any needed to be changed out, and ignored the young man whose eyes he could feel burning fire across the planes of his back. He was gifted a momentary escape when Coran, an overly friendly regular, came up to the bar for a refill.

“How are you doing, Number One?” Coran asked as Shiro prepped his drink. “I haven’t been in since last week. Anything new going on in your life?”

“You know it, Coran,” Shiro answered, his tone completely expressionless. “My life is a never-ending cycle of excitement. It’s hard to keep up.”

From the corner of his eye, he saw Keith smirk at his response, hiding a laugh with a turn of his head.

“Oh, Shiro, old boy, you need to get out more!” Coran said cheerfully. “There’s much more to life than running this establishment. You’re a young man! You should get out and meet someone.”

Coran’s eyes slid suggestively over to Keith, sitting a few feet down the bar. “Or maybe you already have?”

Shiro glowered at him. “Just customers, Coran. But I’ll get right onto that dating thing as soon as I’ve got the time.”

His deadpan delivery did nothing to put off Coran’s energy and enthusiasm. “That’s good, Number One. The right company can make every day a little brighter. As my grandad used to say, ‘If you want to get on the horse, sometimes you have to buy it dinner first’.”

Down the counter, a loud gurgling sound followed by coughing and sputtering drew Coran and Shiro’s attention. Keith was choking on his soda, red-faced, and wiping himself down with a napkin.

“I’m ok,” he said, his voice scraping and husky from the abuse.

Shiro had to assure himself it was definitely _ not _ sexy, and he wasn’t at all curious if other… _ things _ would affect the kid’s voice like that.

“I’ve got to go… check on that,” Shiro said to Coran, tilting his head in Keith’s direction.

“You do that, Number One,” Coran replied with a wink, before grabbing his glass and slipping back off to his table.

“Why does he call you ‘Number One’?” Keith questioned as Shiro moved back toward him.

He picked up the bar towel and wiped it around Keith’s glass on the counter. If the kid was going to be spitting soda all over his bar, he didn’t want to leave it to get sticky.

“I think he once told me he has a thing for keeping track of tall people,” Shiro finally answered. “Apparently, I’m the tallest person he’s ever met. Personally, I think he just needs to get out more.”

“You are pretty tall,” Keith commented, his neck craning up to Shiro’s face. “You’re like a tree…”

Shiro could tell by Keith’s hungry gaze exactly what the kid was thinking, and he shut it down, quick. “Yeah, well there aren’t many allowed in the branches, and the climbers usually end up falling on their asses before they make it to the top. So don’t get any ideas, hotshot.”

“I do like a challenge,” Keith countered, leaning forward with a sharp smirk and hooded eyes that made Shiro want to forget he was off limits.

The bartender shook his head instead. “Too bad you’d probably need your mom to sign a permission slip for you to do one.”

Keith’s expression fell, looking less than pleased.

_ Good, _ Shiro thought. Whatever reason the kid had for coming into the bar, it couldn’t have been with the intention of taking home the bartender.

Not that Shiro would even consider it.

No matter how sinfully attractive the slope of Keith’s neck or the bow of his lips might be.

“So how long have you worked here?” Keith asked, fishing for conversation in what amounted to a shallow pond.

Shiro couldn’t imagine what possessed the kid to hang around. No one else had shown up to sit with him, and he definitely wasn’t a regular. It was as if he was an errant spirit, sent wandering into the bar to tease at Shiro’s long dormant libido. An apparition of desire in an untouchable form.

“Probably longer than you’ve been alive,” Shiro answered roughly. He wasn’t really kidding — he had been washing dishes and bussing tables in this building long before it was just a hole-in-the-wall bar.

Keith laughed. “I highly doubt that.”

“You’d be surprised,” Shiro said as he cleaned up the workstations and began wiping down the mixer guns. It had gotten late enough he didn’t expect any more customers in the door. He might as well get a start on getting things in order. If he was lucky, he could get out at a reasonable time, head home to his empty bed, and let the quiet swallow him into a dreamless sleep.

As if Shiro would ever be that lucky.

“I’m not convinced you’re that old,” Keith said, flirty smile still firmly in place.

Shiro wanted to kiss it off his rosebud mouth.

Instead, he pushed. Whatever his reason for traipsing into the bar was, the kid needed to get a clue. Whether he might want to or not, Shiro wasn’t going to take advantage of what Keith was clearly offering.

“Did you see the name on the bar when you came in?” Shiro asked.

“Yeah,” Keith answered. “Shirogane’s.”

Now that was intriguing. Either the kid had asked around or he was a different breed of cat than Shiro had guessed. It was rare that anyone other than the locals pronounced the name correctly. “That’s me.”

“Yeah?” Keith asked, but he also didn’t seem surprised. If Shiro had to guess, he’d say the kid already knew exactly who he was. Yet Shiro was sure he’d never seen him before in his life, so how could that be possible?

“Do you know a lot of people your age that own a bar?” Shiro asked with a smirk.

“No,” Keith conceded easily. “But you aren’t my age.”

“Well, no, I’m not in high school,” Shiro said, his voice biting like a dog taking a warning snap at a hand getting too close. “Haven’t been in a long time.”

Keith chuckled. “I’m not either. And I know you’re older than I am. That’s obvious.”

“Oh really?” Shiro asked. He should have known better, he really should. But he was clearly out of practice with anyone showing an interest in having an extended conversation with him. So he couldn’t help but add, “And how is that?”

A Cheshire smile lit up Keith’s face, illuminating him in the dimness of the bar. “You seem like the type of man that knows things. I’m a willing student, if you ever feel the urge to give someone an education.”

From the way the words rolled off the boy’s tongue, it was clear he was not discussing any type of academic pursuits. Those purple eyes were open and wanting, staring at Shiro as if extreme force of will would get him to accept the offer.

Laying down the cloth he’d been using to clean the tops of the liquor bottles, Shiro leaned his elbows on the bar, forcing himself to press closely into Keith’s space. Of course, the boy wasn’t backing down, instead inching forward to put himself so close Shiro could smell the sugary sweetness on his breath.

“Oh, sweetheart,” he said, his deep voice dripping with condescension, “I don’t think you could handle the lessons. They’d be much too _ rigorous _ for you.”

Keith didn’t even waver, his purple gaze pinning him in place. “Try me,” he breathed.

He was playing with fire, in a game he’d left behind years ago, but something about the boy made Shiro feel alive in a way he hadn’t even realized he’d missed. He leaned forward, just a hair closer, and was intoxicated by the cologne Keith was wearing. He smelled delicious, like lemongrass and a hint of something spicy Shiro couldn’t place.

His mouth watered.

Without any warning, Shiro abruptly pulled back and said smoothly, “Bar’s closing. I’m sure you’ve got somewhere better to be.”

Keith let out a shaky breath, the first sign all evening that Shiro had been able to rattle him. He looked away, pulling up the sleeve of his jacket to glance at his watch. Shiro couldn’t help but gloat a little, knowing it was just a ruse for Keith to gather himself.

“Yeah, I guess I should head out,” Keith said when he finally made eye contact with Shiro again. “I’ve got a bit of a drive.”

“Oh?” Shiro said, only making conversation and not at all curious where the young angel had come from. “Where you headed?”

“Garrison,” Keith replied, an indistinguishable look in his eyes as he watched Shiro, as if expecting some kind of reaction.

Schooling himself, Shiro replied, “Huh. Guess you’d better head out then.”

“Yeah,” Keith said, a hint of disappointment in his voice.

“See you around, kid.”

Keith flashed him a lightning strike grin as he got up from the stool, turning his body toward the door. “Oh, don’t worry. I have a feeling I’ll be back.”

No sooner had the door of the bar slammed shut, Shiro let out the breath he’d been holding. What was a guy from the Garrison doing here? It was too far away for him to have just wandered in for something to do. Did he come here on purpose?

Was he looking for _ him? _

No, that couldn’t be it. Shiro’s time at the Garrison had been so long ago, no one there now would even remember him. Whatever reason Keith had for coming all the way out to Atlas to hang out at a nondescript, nothing bar, it had nothing to do with him.

Pushing the beautiful boy out of his head, Shiro kicked out the few regulars still hanging around in the slot machine area and emptied the till in the register to lock it up in the safe. The kitchen had been closed for a few hours already, but he took a cursory glance around before turning off the lights, making sure the oven was off and the cooler was locked. Domingo, the guy that ran the kitchen of the bar, was a godsend — he never failed to keep everything spotless and in working order.

For about the hundredth time, Shiro wished he could give the man a raise. His grandfather had always touted the importance of paying people for good work. Unfortunately, even keeping the bar’s doors open and the few staff he had employed was a struggle that never seemed to end.

As he shut down the lights and walked through the back office to get to the stairs leading up to his apartment, Shiro’s thoughts wandered back to the young man that had upset the boring cycle of his life, if only for just a few hours. As nice as it was to change things up, he couldn’t help hoping he’d seen the last of the kid. 

Some temptations were a lot easier to avoid when they were out of sight.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kudos always appreciated, and I'd love to know what you think! Raise your hand if you think he's legal :D


	2. Part II

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which we learn a little more about Shiro’s history, we meet Lance, and Keith disappears for months then comes back totally built and even more hot. Shiro battles with the conflict between his emotions and his rational brain.
>
>>   
Shiro cleared his throat. “So, Keith Kogane.” He could swear he saw a tremor run through the young man’s frame. “What’ll you have?”  
Without pause, he answered in a voice pitched low, “Whatever you want to give me.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks so much to everyone who read and commented on the first installment of this!
> 
> Much love to CGotAnAccount for looking this chapter over for me

He did come back. Shiro should have known he’d never be lucky enough to not be taunted by the kid’s tantalizing good looks again. What was worse, he continued to come back.

And, for the life of him, Shiro couldn’t figure out why. Every time Keith came in, Shiro still refused to serve him anything alcoholic. And he knew the Garrison was at least an hour’s drive from the bar. Why Keith would want to spend an hour each way traveling to an unimportant, boring location just to spend a few hours talking to him was beyond comprehension.

And yet, the kid just _ kept _ coming back.

There was absolutely no regularity to Keith’s visits — for about a month he came in about once a week. Then a few weeks would go by before he’d show his pretty face again. On rare occasions, Keith would stop by for a brief visit during the week and then pop in again on a Saturday.

Shiro was aware from his own time at the Garrison that the kid couldn’t be getting that much leave time. Even if he was older than Shiro gave him credit for, he still wouldn't have the kind of free time he’d been spending at Shiro’s bar. It was suspect enough that Shiro finally questioned Keith about whether he really _ was _ a part of the Garrison as he claimed. In answer, Keith pulled out a badge with his picture and flashed it at Shiro, the name conveniently covered by his fingers. After a few rounds of quick-fire questions only someone living at the compound would know, Shiro finally believed his story.

But he still couldn’t figure out what was bringing him to Atlas.

He couldn’t help but wonder if the kid was going AWOL to hang out with him. He always came alone and didn’t fuss about not getting to drink, though it never stopped him from trying. It had become a sort of game between them, with Keith sauntering into the bar with his cool confidence, tossing an order in Shiro’s direction, then smiling when he was served his usual plain soda.

He’d brighten up the bar for a few hours here and there, flirting and chatting with Shiro like they were old friends. By now he knew the kid pretty well, despite his ongoing internal battle between the desire to completely avoid him and also wanting to drag him upstairs and ravish him.

It was an unfortunate situation for Shiro that the kid hadn’t gotten any less attractive, and that his quick wit and sharp tongue only made him more so.

Keith also shared a lot of the same interests as Shiro, which had been a pleasant surprise. They both enjoyed sci-fi, but had little time to read it. And Keith was intelligent — smart enough to keep up with Shiro and keen to keep him on his toes in a conversation. Keith was a huge fan of Doctor Who and thought it would be fun to time travel, leading them into a long discussion one evening about the scientific theories involved in the process. He also fully believed aliens existed, and spent a great deal of time convincing Shiro to agree with him, though he had yet to make any leeway on that topic.

Before he knew it, they had gone on like that for over six months — with Keith periodically upending Shiro’s boring day-to-day life, like a fiery comet flying in with no regularity or discernible route, gone in a trail of smoke within the blink of an eye. And against his better judgement, Shiro looked forward to it. He lived for the days when ink spill hair and eyes like nebulas would appear out of thin air, making his pulse race and his instincts sharpen with purpose.

“Shirogane!” Keith shouted loudly from the open door one Friday evening, his body not even completely inside the building yet. “Give me a Blow Job!”

A quiet wave of laughs went around the room, the regulars now used to Keith’s outrageous drink requests, though never before had he done it quite so boldly.

“Not tonight, baby,” Shiro threw over his shoulder with a laugh, already turning to prep Keith’s standard unrequested non-alcoholic drink of choice. “I’ve got a headache.”

The few customers around the bar familiar with what had become the standard banter between he and Keith chuckled softly. The sound of someone choking and sputtering, however, caused Shiro to spin around in concern.

Keith had not come alone. 

A boy of about the same age walked into the bar behind him. He was tall and lanky, with caramel skin and bright blue eyes Shiro might have appreciated in other circumstances. The boy seemed to have recovered enough to run a hand through his perfectly tousled brown hair as he pulled himself onto a stool next to Keith at the counter.

“Ok, I get it now,” the new kid said, looking back and forth between Keith’s grinning face and Shiro.

“What?” Shiro asked, dumbfounded. Keith’s visits always threw him off, like a shooting star shocking him out of the dull tranquility of a standard night sky. But the presence of the stranger tilted his axis just a bit further, enough that it took him a moment to catch up.

A feeling not unlike jealousy strummed through Shiro as he watched the two boys together, the close familiarity between them clearly apparent. He pushed it down, reminding himself that for all of Keith’s flirting, there was nothing tangible between them.

Nor would there ever be.

The new boy turned to Keith, one eyebrow jutting up sharply but his voice dripping pity. “Why didn’t you tell me you have cancer?”

“What the hell? I don’t have cancer!” Keith sputtered, his grin vanishing as he glared at his friend. “Why the fuck would you say something like that?”

“Because this guy has to be your Make-A-Wish. No way you landed that all on your own,” the stranger said, pointing a thumb at Shiro and giving him a not-so-subtle visual assessment. “Though it _ does _ explain why you keep running all the way out here every chance you can get.”

He gave Shiro a friendly smile that wasn’t returned as the bartender’s brain caught up with the kid’s words.

Keith’s face flushed red as he began to sputter. “We’re not… It’s not —”

“It’s not what, sweetheart?” Shiro crooned, saccharine words dripping sarcasm he was sure only Keith could read on his face as he leaned over the counter and into Keith’s space. The poor kid’s face turned puce as he pushed himself back from the counter slightly, nearly tipping his stool in the process.

He was rattled — more so than Shiro had ever managed before, and a piece of him enjoyed it immensely.

“We’re just friends!” Keith blurted, looking at the guy he’d brought along. For a moment, Shiro wasn’t sure who the declaration was for.

“Huh,” the new guy grunted, pausing to side eye Shiro once more before holding out a hand to him. “Well, I’m Lance. This one’s got shit social skills,” he said, jerking his head towards Keith, “and if I wait for him to introduce us, it’ll never happen.”

Taking his hand to give it a firm shake, he replied evenly, “Shiro.”

To the kid’s credit, the metal hand didn’t seem to rattle him at all.

“Shiro…” Lance said slowly, his eyes glazing over as he processed and connected the dots in his head. “Like… Shirogane?”

“That’s the name of the bar, isn’t it?”

“What? No shit? I wasn’t even paying attention when we came in here!” Lance exclaimed, his head whipping over quickly to look at Keith, who seemed to be trying to find a way to hide behind his dark hair. “Oh damn! Are you Takashi Shirogane? The pilot?”

_ Fuck, _ Shiro thought, the brief lift in his mood disappearing like a puff of smoke. It had been a long time since he’d had to deal with a fan boy. “Used to be.”

_ “Oh. My. God,” _ Lance gushed, an embarrassed flush working its way over his face. “Holy crap. It’s an honor to meet you, man.”

“I’m just a guy,” Shiro said, keeping his hands busy with straightening the equipment behind the bar. “Nothing special.”

“You’re the best pilot in the Garrison! Your name’s at the top of every simulator we’ve run! Or, at least… it used to be…” Lance said, trailing off and giving Keith a loaded look.

Shiro stared at the boys for a moment, playing catch up with the new information. 

“You’re a pilot?” he asked incredulously, staring at Keith as if he’d just learned he was an alien from outer space.

Keith shrugged, his mouth contorting into an embarrassed smile. “Yeah?

“Guess you’re not as young as I thought,” Shiro muttered, looking the kid over with new clarity. “Unless you’re some kind of child prodigy…”

“He basically is,” Lance laughed, elbows leaning on the wooden top. “You should see him fly. I can’t believe he didn’t tell you — of all people! But anyway, Keith’s not young. He’s an old man today.”

Lance chuckled and threw an arm around Keith’s shoulder. “Aren’t you going to order a drink?” He asked. “I thought we came all the way out here to celebrate!”

Keith slipped his ID from his wallet, sliding it across the wooden surface toward Shiro, avoiding his eyes. If he didn’t know better, Shiro would think the kid looked _ ashamed. _He picked up the plastic card, noting the differences between the last time Keith had given him one of these.

“What happened to _ Akira?” _ he asked, eyebrows raised in a wry look. 

Pink rushed to Keith’s cheeks. “You remember that?”

“It’s not every day a pretty young thing with a weird name comes into my bar,” Shiro said without thinking, grinning at the kid — no, _ man _ — in question.

“Pretty, huh?” Keith replied, his eyes alight with heat, his usual confidence back to full strength.

_ Shit, _ thought Shiro, feeling a telltale heat surge up his neck into his ears. That was a slip he couldn’t afford. Newly attained legal drinking age or not, he was still too young to bother with somebody like Shiro, who could only see most of his twenties in the rear-view mirror.

Shiro cleared his throat. “So, Keith Kogane.” He could swear he saw a tremor run through the young man’s frame. “What’ll you have?”

Without pause, he answered in a voice pitched low, “Whatever you want to give me.”

His tone as he leaned slightly forward over the bar made no mistake — he wasn’t just talking about a drink. Shiro let himself sink into the violet gaze for an instant before reeling back with a dismissive hum. His gaze slid over to Lance. “What about you?”

“Oh, don’t mind me,” said Lance, sitting with his face cradled in his hands, eyes flitting between Keith and Shiro with a snide grin. “Apparently, I’m just here for the entertainment. And to be the driver.”

Shiro moved the glass of soda over in front of Lance with a shrug before turning to the rear counter, his mind already running through options for Keith’s drink. He could hear a thump and some scuffling behind him, and a few whispers of words not loud enough to discern.

With nothing else imaginative coming to mind, Shiro finally decided to just give the birthday boy what he’d asked for, albeit in the only way he was willing to provide. He pulled the bottle of amaretto off the counter, then reached under the bar where he kept the less popular spirits, looking for the Kahlua he knew he’d stashed there around last New Year’s. A wide-mouth double shot glass was placed in front of Keith with a flourish and a smirk, as Shiro contemplated the hazing he was about to deliver.

“Be back in a second,” he told the two men before rushing out the side of the bar area and into the kitchen. He found Domingo plating up a couple of sandwich orders and asked, “Hey, do we have any whipped cream?”

The man gave him a puzzled look. “Um, yeah actually. I usually just keep a can on hand in case we get a dessert order or something.”

A rare grin escaped onto Shiro’s face. “Where do you keep it?”

“In the walk-in, man,” Domingo answered, his face changing into a mask of concern. “You ok, boss?”

“I’m fine,” Shiro replied, ducking into the cooler and quickly locating the necessary can on an upper shelf. He came back out, being careful to firmly shut and latch the large metal door behind him. “Don’t worry. I’m just messing with someone.”

“Huh,” Domingo grunted in disbelief. “Well, have fun, I guess.”

“Need me to take those out?” Shiro asked as he nodded toward the plates sitting on the pass through shelf.

“Nah, Kelsey should be in to get them in a minute,” Domingo said, referring to the teenage girl who was waiting tables that evening.

Shiro nodded his assent as he rushed back out of the kitchen to the bar top. Keith and Lance looked up from where they sat with their heads together, still quietly hissing at each other. Shiro ignored them, setting the can off to the side before picking up the amaretto and coffee liquor. He poured them both into the shot glass together, filling it halfway. After sticking the Kahlua back in storage, he put away the amaretto and grabbed the Irish cream, carefully pouring it into the top of the glass to finish it off.

Keith looked up at Shiro in surprise, obviously shocked that the older man was actually making him a drink. 

Shiro just gave him a wicked grin before picking up the aerosol can of whipped cream and squirting a generous amount on top. He slid the shot glass in front of Keith with a smile. “One Blow Job, on the house. Happy Birthday, kid.”

“Thanks, Shiro!” Keith said with a bright smile, reaching out to grab the glass.

Shiro almost felt bad about what he did next, but Keith had done enough to upend Shiro’s life lately, and it was only fair to give a little back.

“Ah, ah, ah,” Shiro corrected, stopping Keith before he could touch the drink. “You don’t use your hands for a Blow Job.”

Lance snorted and broke into giggles, while pretty purple eyes widened at Shiro.

“What?” Keith uttered, blinking in confusion.

“You can’t use your hands to take this shot.” Shiro explained.

“Why the fuck not?”

“Tradition?” Shiro answered with a chuckle, eager to see if the kid would play along.

His violet gaze stared at Shiro flatly for a second, before his face morphed into an expression of determination.

“Fine,” he huffed, narrowing his eyes at Shiro before eyeing the glass with suspicion.

Lance piped up with a laugh. “Can you even fit that thing around your mouth?”

“Please,” Keith scoffed at his friend. He gave Shiro one more unreadable look, then opened his mouth as he leaned down over the glass.

“I hope you like coffee,” Shiro smirked, confident the next few minutes would be entertaining if nothing else. 

But then Keith turned the tables on him.

Looking up from under his dark lashes as he leaned over almost eye level with his drink, Keith’s gaze locked onto Shiro, not letting him look away. His long, pink tongue darted out to lick at the whipped cream on top of the drink, pulling it back into his mouth and licking his lips.

Shiro swallowed, his mouth suddenly gone as dry as the desert outside. He watched, entranced, as Keith wrapped his mouth around the top of the glass, never breaking Shiro’s stare.

With a sudden movement, Keith threw his head back, glass in his mouth, lifting it above his head. The liquid drained out in a rush, and Shiro saw the boy — _ man’s _ — Adam’s apple bob along his sleek throat as he swallowed.

As he brought his head back down, Keith’s eyes once again landed on Shiro, who was totally entranced by the way the man’s lips were wrapped around the width of the glass’s rim. Finally, he brought his hand up to pull the glass out of his mouth with a ‘pop’ that startled Shiro so much he gave a small jump.

Holy _ fuck. _ That was easily the hottest thing to ever happen in Shiro’s bar. Maybe his life. 

He wanted a drink. 

He _ needed _ to adjust his pants, but he refused to give Keith the satisfaction.

The drink won.

Shiro knew he would be haunted by the vision of those lips and the way Keith’s throat moved when he swallowed.

With a speed that should have been inhuman, Shiro grabbed another shot glass from the bar and the bottle of spiced rum, pouring himself an overflowing serving that was just as quickly lifted and slammed into the back of his throat.

The burning sensation as it worked its way down his chest helped center him.

Unfortunately, when he put down the glass, his gaze fell directly on Keith, whose eyes were sparkling like a character out of one of the shoujo anime he used to watch when he was a child.

He was light-headed, struck with a sudden wave of dizziness — and it wasn’t from the alcohol.

“You ok there, handsome?” Keith asked as he leaned over the bar, bold in his flirtation in a way Shiro hadn’t been hit with in some time. The look in his dark eyes said he knew exactly what his antics were doing to the older man.

Shiro glared at the pilot, suddenly overpowered by the urge to wrap his hands around the man’s delicate neck and squeeze until he couldn’t draw breath.

Even better if he was doing that while Keith laid on his bed, with Shiro pounding into him and taking him apart in every way possible.

His face flushed with heat as he stared at Keith, realizing just how hot the desire was burning through him. He wanted to take. To exert his power over the smaller man and force him to submit. To have control — because his body and mind were completely at odds. Finding out Keith wasn’t as young as he’d thought was like a dam of possibility bursting open.

Shiro _ wanted. _

And Keith had done nothing but present himself like an offering, standing in the path of a tidal wave with his arms wide open.

“I think I’m going to write a book on the mating habits of pilots,” Lance snarked, breaking the silent staring contest Shiro and Keith were having. Shiro loosened his grip on the edge of the bar counter, catching sight of the gouges his metal hand had been cutting into the wood. The scratches taunted him for his weakness.

Damn it. He was going to have to fix that later.

Shiro growled. “I’m not a pilot.”

Lance wasn’t fazed at all. “Well, you were. Once a pilot, always a pilot.”

“The best at the Garrison, from what I hear,” Keith added, looking at Shiro with something like awe.

Shiro snorted, raising his metal hand in a fist. “The only thing the Garrison ever gave me was this state-of-the-art prosthetic and a dishonorable discharge.”

“What?” Keith gasped, clearly surprised by the information.

“Didn’t do your homework?” Shiro asked with a dead-eyed glare. He let the latent anger at the Garrison swirl in his stomach, burning away the dangerous lust from before.

“Dishonorable? How can that be?” Lance asked, slack-jawed. “The instructors all talk about you like you’re a god.”

“That… can’t be,” Keith said quietly, his face a mask of shock.

Shiro stared them both down with a flat look, choking out the words. “‘Pilot Error’, boys. I’m sure you’ve heard _ that.” _

It was true he had once been an up-and-coming ace pilot — the Golden Boy of Garrison, many had called him. Shiro had even been chosen over older, more experienced pilots for a major space mission. His career trajectory had been aimed so high, there was no way to see the end of it.

But all of that had come crashing down to Earth along with his ship eight years ago. _ Pilot Error. _ His mouth twisted with disgust, pain stabbing like a knife into his stomach with anger churning around it. He still wasn’t over it.

He wasn’t sure he ever would be.

“But… I thought you left, after the accident,” Keith remarked quietly, looking at Shiro as if seeing him for the first time. “They kicked you out?”

At Shiro’s short nod, Lance shouted, “That’s bullshit!”

“No shit, kid. But that’s life,” Shiro said roughly. “The Garrison’s only priority is self-interest. When they can’t use you anymore, you’re no good to them. You boys might want to keep that in mind.”

Lance glanced at Keith, whose head was tilted down to stare at the table top, dark hair hiding his face. They stayed for a while longer, Lance chatting and asking Shiro questions while the older man gave him minimal responses at best. 

Keith was curiously quiet the rest of the night, only crawling out of his stupor enough to tell Shiro “thanks” before they left the bar. Shiro hoped his subdued demeanor was due to the drink — he might have been a lightweight and a quiet drunk.

But the way Keith seemed to be examining him while sitting quietly at the bar had Shiro worried the young pilot was thinking too much. And thinking about Shiro and his past wouldn’t lead Keith anywhere positive.

He hoped the younger man had the sense to stay far away from Shiro’s ghosts.

*****

Shiro should have known better than to think Keith was capable of letting things go. He knew very well how much the pilot loved a challenge, and his affection for a good mystery had led him straight into the path Shiro had hoped he would avoid.

“I pulled the tapes. I’ve got a friend who can hack into anything, and she got me the confidential files,” Keith said, slightly breathless, the next time he came into the bar. Eager to assert his knowledge, he hadn’t even bothered with a greeting before diving in. “It wasn’t your fault.”

Shiro should have known that Keith would do the research.

“I know that. But it doesn’t bring back my crew. Knowing there was nothing else I could have done doesn’t change anything,” Shiro said, glowering at the pilot who couldn’t seem to leave him alone and stay out of his business.

“You shouldn’t feel like a failure when you didn’t do anything wrong,” Keith countered.

“Who says I’m a failure?” Shiro glared, his tone incredulous.

“Your eyes do, Shiro.” The pity in Keith’s soft purple gaze didn’t lessen the blow, and Shiro had no patience for it.

“Why did you come here?” Shiro growled, his body language as defensive as his tone.

Keith’s expression gave away his surprise at Shiro’s aggressive response. If he’d thought finding out the truth would magically make Shiro feel better about the past, he would be sorely disappointed.

“Today? To say goodbye,” the young man answered.

“What?” Shiro was thrown by the completely unexpected response. Had he finally pushed the kid enough that he’d decided to never come back?

“I won’t be able to come see you for a while,” Keith explained. Shiro tried not to think how sad the pilot sounded at the confession. “I’ve got a mission.”

Shiro let out a long breath, his feelings a mix between relief that Keith wasn’t running from him and concern for the task his friend had been handed. He kept his voice calm and unaffected when he asked, “Where are they sending you?”

Violet eyes locked with his own. “Kerberos.”

The word hit Shiro like a bullet, shock and fear tearing through him like metal through flesh. He knew it was irrational, but his mind raced with thoughts of his own mission to Kerberos. And the disaster it was.

“Fuck.” The room was spinning slightly, and Shiro desperately wanted to sit down. He settled for laying both hands on the top of the bar to hold himself upright._ “Fuck.” _

“It will be fine, Shiro,” Keith assured him, surprised by the emotional response of the normally composed bartender. “It’s just, I’ve got eight months of ramp up for launch prep, and they aren’t going to let me leave the base.”

“I’ve been trying to figure out how you manage to get off base as much as you do anyway,” Shiro said, unable to keep a tiny smile from his lips, though anxiety was still churning in his stomach.

“I have my ways. Not all of them are… approved, let’s say,” Keith replied with a wicked grin that made Shiro’s pulse pick up without his permission. “But they’re going to be keeping a closer eye on me for a while. So… I can’t come see you. I wanted to make sure you knew why.”

“You think I care?” Shiro barked roughly.

“I hope you do.” Keith’s voice was soft and more serious than Shiro had ever heard from him.

“Why did you come here, Keith? What made you come all the way out into the desert in the first place?” Shiro asked, the bite gone out of his voice. He’d been wondering about Keith’s motives from the beginning, but since finding out he was a pilot at the Garrison, the question was a gnat in his brain that annoyed him with its buzzing. “Was it to find me?”

The pilot’s dark head tilted, as if considering what kind of answer Shiro wanted. “I was curious… at first. I kept seeing your name at the top of the sims boards and hearing how the instructors and higher-ups talk about you. Like you were the greatest pilot they’d ever seen.” Keith said honestly. “So I tracked you down. It wasn’t exactly difficult.”

“Why’d you keep coming?”

“Because you’re hot,” Keith said with a bold smile. “And because it seemed like you were lonely. Like maybe you needed someone.”

“Oh, you know so much, do you?" Shiro snarked, but there was no heat behind his words. Keith had read him like an open book, and it was difficult to fault him for that.

“I know you’ve got no family,” Keith said bluntly, knowing Shiro wouldn’t want to hear any more sympathy in his voice. “And you’ve got the bar, but I’m guessing not much else, or you wouldn’t be here.”

“Not like I’ve got anywhere else to be,” Shiro admitted sullenly. The building they were standing in, once a reasonably successful restaurant, was the only thing he had to his name besides the experimental prosthetic attached to his shoulder, earned for his agreeable silence about his “failure” at the Garrison. His grandfather passed away not long after the crash, leaving Shiro with only the restaurant, the apartment above it, and not much else.

“What’s keeping you here?” Keith asked, curiosity plain in his voice.

Shiro shrugged. “Not like I had many options after… everything. My grandfather left me the place when he died. I was still trying to figure out how to use the new arm and selling the place wouldn’t have been easy. There’s not a big market for this type of building, outside a little town like Atlas.”

Keith scrutinized him with a serious expression. “You seem to be making it work, though.”

“Barely,” Shiro huffed, rolling his eyes.

“So why stay?” Keith pressed, his dark eyes studying him, as if trying to examine his very soul. “You’ve got skills. You’re a pilot. You could definitely get work somewhere else.”

“There’s not any more for me out there than there is here, kid.” The stinging cynicism was meant to leave a bite, but Keith wasn’t deterred.

“One day, Shiro,” the pilot responded, his voice ringing with promise, “one day you’ll wake up and realize that’s not true.”

Shiro didn’t have the heart to argue with him. With luck, Keith would have many more years before he realized optimism was a sport for the youth, the spark that keeps you going until you can recognize reality and accept your lot in life.

It had been a very long time since anyone had accused Shiro of being optimistic.

*****

Shiro looked up at the sound of the main door banging closed, expecting to see Coran’s orange mustache and a friendly wave. This was the time of day he usually showed up on Fridays for his role playing group. He’d tried to get Shiro to join them on a number of occasions, but so far the bartender had managed to dodge the invites.

But it wasn’t Coran smiling at Shiro as he approached the bar.

It was Keith.

It had been almost five months since Shiro had seen him, and to say he was a sight for sore eyes was an understatement. He’d _ missed _ him, a hell of a lot more than he’d expected. Despite all his bluster and attempts at pushing him away, Shiro liked the man. He liked talking to him, and although he repeatedly tried to convince himself otherwise, Shiro _ definitely _ liked looking at him.

The months of separation only solidified the feeling, and Shiro had been haunted by the spectre of Keith in his dreams on more than one occasion. He had hoped that Keith being gone for so long would help clear his head, but instead it now seemed like it would take an exorcism to get the man out of his mind.

And now, here he was — same star-bright smile, silvery purple gaze and eager expression all aimed at Shiro as he walked across the room toward the bar. He could swear Keith had some kind of internal light, the way he seemed to illuminate the room when he walked in. For a moment, Shiro was simply blinded by his presence.

But then, he noticed the changes.

Keith was _ not _ the same as the last time he’d been to the bar.

Shiro wouldn’t have believed it possible for Keith to be any more attractive. But, somehow — impossibly — he was.

_ Fucking hell… _

Shiro’s eyes roamed greedily over the lines of a body now filled out, the bulges of abs and pecs testing the limits of the thin t-shirt Keith wore under an unfamiliar jacket. The long legs that always taunted him seemed even longer, the thighs slightly thicker. Wider shoulders made Keith’s waist seem narrower, or perhaps it actually was.

Shiro’s tongue felt too big for his mouth as he swallowed, trying desperately to find the calm, cool exterior he usually wore like armor. The bar had suddenly gotten at least ten degrees warmer, making Shiro sweat. He wiped his damp hands on his jeans impatiently, feeling the heat creep up his neck and onto his face, desperately wishing there was a fan over the bar he could turn on.

He would kill for a cool breeze, a glass of water, ANYTHING to help quell the sudden warmth suffusing his body. As Keith stood in front of him, more gloriously male and everything Shiro could have ever wanted in a tight, gorgeous package, all the blood in Shiro’s body seemed to be gathering the fire within and carrying it down with gravity. 

Straight into his pants, if the sudden constriction of his jeans was any indication.

He knew Keith had been getting ready for a long flight, and part of the preparation involved building muscle mass he may lose while in space. Shiro knew the procedure better than most, and he blanched at the memory of grueling workout regimens, disgusting protein supplements, and cocktails of medicinal enhancers from many years ago. While preparing for his own mission, Shiro had added weight and a bulk of muscle he’d somehow managed to retain the majority of even after the crash and recovery.

But Keith…

“What the _hell_ kind of steroids did they put you on?” Shiro blurted in way of a greeting. “Fuck… Did you get _taller?”_

Keith laughed, a beautiful full-bodied sound Shiro hadn’t realized he’d missed so much. “I’m gonna be honest… I didn’t ask. I figured I probably didn’t want to know.”

It may have been the months of separation playing tricks on Shiro’s memories, but he could swear the tenor of Keith’s voice was just a touch deeper than it had been before. The vibration of it purred at just the right pitch, causing a small tight coil of heat to spark and smolder low in Shiro’s body.

“You’re probably right,” Shiro replied, eyes still shot wide open in shock. Oddly enough, he could relate to Keith’s thought process. He fully understood the willingness to let the Garrison do whatever it wanted, even manipulate the very genes in his body, to get to space. But looking him over, seeing the immense changes that had taken place in such a short amount of time — Shiro had to wonder if there was more to it than just diet and a strict exercise routine.

Something fierce and protective reared up in Shiro at the thought of the Garrison using Keith like any other guinea pig cadet. Anger burned in his chest that they may have caused some long-term damage in their desire to “create” the ultimate pilot.

_ It’s not my problem, _Shiro reminded himself just as rapidly as the urge to play champion emerged. Why did he care if Keith got hurt while chasing his dreams?

Still, as Keith slipped his jacket off his now much broader shoulders, his tight shirt highlighted every curve and swell of muscular arms. Shiro, always a sucker for a well built soldier, drank it all in like the parched man in the desert that he was. When the thought crossed his mind that Keith was now probably strong enough to completely manhandle him, Shiro reprimanded himself internally and forced his gaze up and away from the visual wonderland.

Unfortunately, his eyes landed on Keith’s, the violet clearly alight with enjoyment at Shiro’s reaction. 

“See something you like, big guy?” His smirk was sharp enough to cut glass.

“Don’t flatter yourself,” Shiro grumbled as he filled a cup with water for himself. The preening expression on Keith’s face indicated he wasn’t fooled by the half-hearted rejection.

“Man, I’ve missed this,” Keith sighed, getting comfortable as he settled onto the stool. His hair had gotten a little longer, Shiro noticed as the younger man pulled a hand through the ebony strands. Shiro wondered when he’d be cutting it, knowing the Garrison would require it before he went to space.

“What’s that?” Shiro queried.

“You,” Keith answered bluntly, “flirting with me like a bitchy pirate.”

Shiro stared at him in shocked silence for half a second before bursting into loud, raucous laughter — so loud the rest of the customers in the bar all turned to look at him in surprise. Upon noticing Keith was the companion causing Shiro’s outburst, Coran lifted a pointed eyebrow at the bartender from across the room before raising both suggestively with a lewd smile.

Shiro raised his middle finger at him in response, and Coran laughed before turning back to his game.

With the ice broken, Shiro and the pilot easily slipped back into their old banter, discussing the excitement and news (or lack thereof) in their lives for the last few months. Just as Shiro expected, Keith’s days over the last few months had been filled with little besides workouts, supplements, and intensive mission study. The flight details were classified, and as much as Keith insisted Shiro was one of the few people in his life who would understand what he was talking about, the bartender wouldn’t let him break protocol by divulging any top secret information.

He knew how the Garrison worked, and it wasn’t worth Keith risking the mission just to commiserate with him.

That left very little for Keith to discuss, yet he managed by showering Shiro with anecdotes about his team. Launch prep was boring work, but at least it sounded like Keith had a decent crew. After an hour of listening to stories about Lance, Hunk and Pidge, the bartender almost felt like he knew the people Keith would soon be sharing a ship with very well.

“We each get one twelve inch square box to fill with personal items we can bring with us, you know?” Keith said as Shiro nodded, remembering well the photos, trinkets and treats he had stashed in his own box, long ago lost to a fiery crash. “Well, I swear, Hunk is going to cram food into every last millimeter of his.”

Shiro chuckled. “Kid likes to eat?”

“Honestly, I think he’s worried we’ll get stuck in space or something and the rations won’t last until a rescue team gets there,” Keith sighed. One hand was supporting his head propped on his arm against the bar, and the fingers of the right one were picking at a napkin in front of him. He stared at it, as if the layers of paper held answers to questions he hadn’t even thought of yet. “Engineers… They think too damn much sometimes, am I right?”

Indigo eyes glanced up at Shiro, whose gaze quickly shifted away, stomach churning at the mention of Hunk’s job. A picture formed in Shiro’s mind, unbidden but seared there through pain and loss, of the engineer on his own team.

The one person he never thought he would lose.

Shiro hums in agreement, quickly searching for another topic. Keith’s tales about his crew hit too close to home, brought back too many difficult memories for Shiro to manage. It was better to avoid the past as much as possible. Let it die along with everyone in it.

His own days were never much to talk about, but he managed to find a few odd little stories to share with Keith, mostly about the customers who frequented the bar. Coran was always good for a topic of discussion — it seemed the man was always doing something outlandish to draw attention to himself. Whether it was a ridiculous outfit he’d been sporting or the impromptu dance on a table he had done in order to demonstrate the actions of a character during their role playing game, Coran certainly provided occasional excitement and entertainment to Shiro’s drudgery.

Shiro was grateful for it, if he was being honest with himself. Without the sporadic foolishness the old man brought into the bar, his days would probably be too boring to tolerate.

Shiro chatted amiably for a while longer, enjoying Keith’s company for as long as he could, while simultaneously reminding himself life would be much simpler if he was gone. Though after the recent long drought of Keith’s companionship, and the one he knew was approaching, Shiro was finding it incredibly difficult to convince his brain of the facts.

Much too soon for the small, weak center of Shiro’s heart to bear, their conversation trickled to a close.

“I’d better head out. I’ve got to get back before midnight or Pidge can’t cover for me,” Keith said, moving to stand beside the bar, his expression reluctant. “I guess… This is goodbye, for a while.”

“When’s the launch?” Shiro asked, even though he knew the answer. It was all over the news and the only thing his customers seemed to want to talk about lately.

“In a couple of days,” Keith answered. A dry smile appeared on his face. “I’d ask you to come see me off, but I’m guessing you’d rather drop dead than step foot near the Garrison again.”

Surprised by the offer, Shiro couldn’t help but chuckle at how well Keith knew him. “Fair assessment.”

“Sure you don’t want to give me something to remember you by?” Keith asked, his smile shifting into something more flirty.

“Such as?” Shiro said dryly.

“I wouldn’t say no to a good luck kiss,” Keith pushed, putting his elbows onto the bar to lean across it. The position just happened to show off the musculature of his forearms and biceps deliciously, which Shiro was sure was no accident.

“Too bad I’m not going to say yes to it,” Shiro retorted, even as the thought swirled in his brain, a temptation he couldn’t completely force away.

Dejected, Keith’s smile dropped slightly. The fake happiness looked wrong on his face, marring his natural beauty.

“Well, I guess… I’ll see you later, Shiro,” Keith said. His gaze raked over Shiro as if trying to memorize him, and the bartender suddenly wished they’d spent more time talking about what Keith would soon be facing.

He’d guessed the pilot had come to visit him as a distraction, and he’d played along, not letting their conversation get too deep. The morose expression on the man’s face was concerning, as if he was worried that his mission would meet the same fate as Shiro’s — or worse.

“Hey, Hotshot.” Shiro called out, just as Keith turned to go. Amethyst eyes shined when he spun back around. “Don’t worry. You’ll be fine.”

Keith nodded, turning with a heavy step to walk toward the door. Before Shiro could think of something more encouraging to say, he was gone, his wide shoulders disappearing into the night.

Deep down in the back of Shiro’s mind, a tremor of guilt took hold. He knew the kid — man, he reminded himself — had come a long way just to say goodbye before his flight. For some reason Shiro couldn’t fathom, Keith’s interest in him had taken a firm hold, like claws that sank in so far Shiro could do nothing to shake him off. The harder he tried to push the man away, the more determined he became to burrow into Shiro’s life. And he could barely stand to admit it to himself, but there was a piece of him that was glad for it.

Shiro _ liked _ that the kid tried so hard — that he seemed to want him so much.

And in two days time, this man — that had pursued him for well over a year, the incredibly gorgeous pilot now morphed into a perfectly sculpted model of the human male — would be strapped into a rocket ship and shot into space. Just as Shiro himself had been, years ago.

He couldn’t shake the fear, rising in him like a black cloud, that Keith would meet a similar fate.

Or worse.

Without conscious thought, his feet carried him swiftly through the bar, throwing open the door and chasing after the only person to show him an ounce of care in far longer than he wanted to consider. His feet slid in the loose gravel of the parking lot, but Shiro didn’t slow down, pulled forward by the terror that his last words to the young man would be a taciturn dismissal.

He deserved better.

Back-lit by one of the two security lights illuminating the area, Keith’s outline created a black spectre next to a bike across the lot. Even in shadow, the long lean lines of the man called to him.

“Keith!” He shouted as Keith picked up his helmet. He looked up as Shiro approached, setting it back down on the seat of the bike, eyes wide with surprise.

Driven by sheer panic, Shiro was still very aware it was a horrible idea. To open a door that should stay firmly closed. To give Keith the false belief that Shiro was capable of anything besides selfishness and survival. To let himself hope.

Yet the only thing Shiro considered in the moment was the thought that if the worst happened — if Keith was captured by aliens and disappeared into space forever or _ worse _ — he couldn’t let him leave without telling him.

His metal arm was lightning fast, shooting out to grab Keith around the waist and pull him in close. Keith’s pretty eyes widened in surprise, staring at the taller man in shock as large hands gripped his narrow waist. Shiro couldn’t help but just look at him for a moment, wanting to imprint the picture of the pilot in his brain.

The words wouldn’t come.

Instead, Shiro’s warm hand reached up to cup the side of Keith’s neck, his thumb rubbing at the barest hint of stubble along his jaw, before swiftly closing the gap between them.

His mouth met Keith’s lips roughly, and the tiny gasp the pilot made gave Shiro all the opening he needed. He surged in, using teeth and tongue to plunder the smaller man’s mouth, licking at every whimper and whine Keith gave him as he clung to Shiro tightly.

Shiro knew he should stop, pull away and put space back between them, but he couldn’t bring himself to do it. The flavor of Keith was intoxicating, like warm honey with a hint of the whiskey from earlier, and he wanted _ more. _ Desire burned through him, white-hot and spreading quickly through every cell in his body.

_ Why _ had he resisted this for so long?

Minutes later as his mind began to spin, probably due to a decided lack of oxygen, Shiro realized just how dangerous Keith Kogane was for him. The most insidious drug ever created, more hazardous than anything a chemist could ever hope to create.

One taste and Shiro was already an addict, hopelessly caught and damned to suffer for it.

Slender fingers that had been gripping the front of Shiro’s shirt pushed at his chest, forcing him back as they both panted, inches apart and fighting for the same air.

_ “Holy fuck,” _ Keith breathed. A tremor ran through him, but Shiro couldn’t tell whose body it originated from given how tightly they were pressed together.

He was struck by the desire to force a promise from Keith that he would come back — safe, sound, and whole.

But there were no guarantees where he was going, and Shiro knew it all too well.

“Go. Be great,” Shiro said softly, his forehead rested against Keith’s and his hands still held the man’s face, reluctant to release his hold.

Keith pulled him close with a rough jerk, nestling his still slightly shorter form as close to Shiro as possible. He hugged him tightly, wrapping his arms around Shiro’s waist with a crushing strength that was somehow reassuring.

“I’ll come back,” Keith promised, violet eyes sparkling in the dim lights.

“I know.” Shiro murmured the lie knowing it was what the young pilot needed to hear, and let his left hand brush the dark bangs away from Keith’s face. He tried to catalog every sensory memory he could — the slight pink of his cheekbones, the softness of his hair, the impossible color of his eyes, the cinnamon-spice scent of his cologne. If it was the last time he saw Keith, this snapshot in time was the picture he would hold on to.

Shiro turned away, heading back to the bar, refusing to give in to the urge screaming at him to turn around one more time. There was no sound of the bike roaring to life, so he knew Keith was watching him. For once, the man’s attention didn’t rattle his nerves.

After the door swung closed behind him, Shiro leaned over the bar, his forearms braced on the wooden surface, and dropped his head onto his fists. Despite all his refusal and effort to the contrary, Keith had found a loose edge in his armor. He’d wiggled and squirmed his way into Shiro’s heart, breaking down every wall that had been built to keep people out.

He shouldn’t care so much. He wished he didn’t. Yet suddenly, beyond every trivial matter — more than keeping himself afloat and the lights on in the bar — what Shiro wanted most in the world was for Keith to succeed where he had failed. To make it to the far reaches of space and accomplish all the dreams Shiro had believed were meant for himself.

Because, more important than anything else, success meant Keith would survive — and be put on a path that would take him far. So far he would forget all about a burnt-out old pilot and his piddling bar in an insignificant, little town that would do nothing but drag him down.

It was fitting then, for the bright light of Keith Kogane to shoot its way into the sky, joining all of the other stars Shiro had no business reaching for.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm not going to lie to you, Keith taking the shot Shiro makes for him on his 21st birthday may or may not be directly inspired by my own 21st birthday experiences :D
> 
> I would REALLY really love feedback on this fic -- please don't feel like I can't take it if you're a little critical. I own big girl panties for a reason :) I'm trying to take kind of a different tack with this one, and it would be really helpful if you let me know what you think about the direction it's going. Kudos are wonderful, and comments make my day!


End file.
